


Terminal Veracity

by fancywaffles



Series: Stellar Wind [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Space, Even in Space Felix has a Sword, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Implied Dimilix and Claudeleth, Sylvgrid Big Bang, They/Them Pronouns for My Unit | Byleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 06:15:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28844442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancywaffles/pseuds/fancywaffles
Summary: Ingrid is given a last minute mission by the leader of the Golden Deer Privateers, infiltrate Garreg Mach Station by pretending she and Sylvain are newlyweds and liberate the Fell Star Code. She's... mostly sure they can pull this off. Probably.(or, fake dating in space!)
Relationships: Ingrid Brandl Galatea/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Series: Stellar Wind [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2115075
Comments: 16
Kudos: 45
Collections: Sylvgrid Big Bang





	Terminal Veracity

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Sylvgrid Big Bang](https://twitter.com/SylvgridBigBang)! I finally wrote fake dating. And check out the lovely by art by [ umbramaticjo](https://twitter.com/umbramaticjo/status/1351333257275711488) and [ Nightsdawn2](https://twitter.com/Nightsdawn2/status/1351333102405124096)!
> 
> Thanks to Ash for the beta! <3

It didn’t matter how many years it had been, Ingrid couldn’t lose the instinct to stand at attention when she was in front of her commanding officer. Even when her commanding officer wasn’t officially her commanding officer at all. 

“You said it was urgent?” Ingrid asked. It had taken her six months to stop the knee-jerk reaction to call him _sir_. 

Claude von Riegan—the unofficial leader of the Golden Deer Privateers and official head of the Planetary Alliance of the Leicester System—did not have good posture. Ingrid couldn’t picture him ever standing at attention. 

“I said it was desperate.”

“There’s a difference?” Ingrid asked. She didn’t know why she bothered—she could never get a straight answer out of Claude.

“Unfortunately.” Claude tapped his leg with a datapad. “How up to date are you on the Garreg Mach mission?”

He had to be asking her for a reason. “Not very. I know Sylvain is on it and that it’s occurring during the Millennium Festival, but for the most part the station has been hushed.”

“The one time gossip might help,” Claude said, somehow simultaneously amused and irritated. “To get to the point: Hilda and Sylvain were going on a very special mission. They were going to pose as a married couple and locate an extremely crucial piece of tech. Have you heard of the Fell Star Code?”

“Yes,” Ingrid said. Who hadn’t? 

It was rumored to be the only way possible to create new Divine Transference Gates and expand space travel. It was tightly controlled by the Keepers of the Nabateans (colloquially the Church of Seiros) and gave them an unmitigated control. Garreg Mach was the only neutral spot in the entire Fódlan Galaxy. Keeping neutral and allowing free travel only at a midpoint let the strain of war between the Adrestia and Faerghus Systems stay strong. The key reason she had defected from the Blue Lions Space Marines with Sylvain. 

If Claude had a lead on the Fell Star Code, then he very well could start creating new gates and opening up free travel for all. It would lead to exploration and the freedom of movement that wouldn’t only be tied to and burdened on those with ancient alien marks known as Crests, the only ones who could fly the fastest ships in the galaxy. 

Getting that code meant stopping the war. Freedom is what it meant.

“You have a way to get it?” Ingrid asked.

Claude shrugged one shoulder, another deflection. She tried not to be bothered by it as he walked towards her and put the datapad he’d been holding on the table. 

“That is the last contact I had with its programmer. We’ve been keeping it chatty for a while now, even before I knew who I was talking to. They want to get out of Garreg Mach Station and in return would be happy to share what they know.”

Claude slid the datapad towards her. The script was indecipherable. “Usually I can read what I get, but the last two messages have been… garbled. Lysithea’s been working on it, but I think even for her brain it might be too much. That’s why we decided on the mission. We need to get this programmer out of there so we can get the Fell Star Code.” 

Ingrid looked at the datapad and then back to Claude. “Do Hilda and Sylvain need backup?” 

Claude’s sigh was dreary and ill-composed. He turned his back to her and threw his hand in the air. “Hilda is not going.”

“Why?” 

A dry snort. “Because it’s a little hard to pretend to be Sylvain’s wife on a space station in the middle the Fódlan Galaxy, when you’re stuck on planet Goneril.” He rubbed the side of his temple. Ingrid could see the frustration on his face reflected in the control panel. “Holst is being… Holst, so Hilda’s held up for a while.” 

Claude turned around again. He was… irritating and unprofessional, but he did have an aura of leadership that made people (made Ingrid) follow him. He was broadcasting it now. “My choices are Lorenz, Marianne, or you.”

Ingrid stared at him. It wasn’t registering in her brain what he was asking, even though she knew what it most certainly had to be. “You need me to pretend to be married to Sylvain and gather information in an operative fashion?”

“Lorenz and Sylvain hate each other and Marianne is… well she’s getting better, but she’s still not to the point where I’d feel comfortable putting her in a situation where she had to be quick on her feet.”

Ingrid blinked. “So _I’m_ your best option?”

Claude lifted both his hands in a gesture of exasperation. “As I said, desperate.” 

She tried not to take that personally. “I don’t… enjoy lying, but I suppose Sylvain and I have enough history to make it work.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Claude said. His sudden confidence didn’t feel sincere. “Also, Sylvain is waiting on the landing pad and I need you to leave in the next fifteen minutes.”

That was not nearly enough time to prepare. She couldn’t even pack a proper bag. “Why the rush?”

“Sun cycles,” Claude said. “The Millennium Festival is soon and it’s our only chance to have the Church distracted enough to find the programmer and the code.” He sighed. “Sylvain will have to brief you on the way there. I trust you can handle yourself?”

Did he? Ingrid wasn’t so sure. She was sure of her own capabilities and none of them involved lying, charming people, being sneaky, or worse, being a quiet dutiful wife that let her husband do all the talking. That was why she’d left Faerghus too.

“You’ll have to,” Ingrid said.

Claude’s laugh was sincere but tired. “Good luck, Ingrid. For all of us.”

“I’ll do my best,” Ingrid said. She had to bite down on the urge to say sir. Claude seemed to pick up on this, but he turned back towards his display and let it go.

***

Ingrid found Sylvain at the starboard launch hanger. He was staring up at Ruin with a twisted frown on his face. Being a Crest-bearer meant the ability to use a Relic ship, but Sylvain had never seemed comfortable with his own. Considering the way he’d gotten it—liberating from his abusive elder brother, lethally—Ingrid couldn’t really blame him.

Sylvain turned as she approached and his face made a few different expressions before settling on amused. “Come to see me off? I am flattered, but really you should have brought flowers if you wanted to make it a proper send off.”

She had years of practice ignoring him. “Hilda is stuck on Goneril, so I’m taking her place.”

Sylvain stared at her, his brow furrowing downwards as he looked her over, likely trying to find out if she was joking. The longer he stared at her face, the more time he had to reflect on that fact that Ingrid would never joke about a mission. 

“Her place…” Sylvain said. His mouth hung open on the last word before it loudly snapped shut. “No way. That’s… Ingrid. You can’t lie!” 

“I can lie!” Ingrid said, a little too forcefully. It wasn’t a skill she should’ve been defensive about, but Sylvain brought it out in her.

“This will never work,” Sylvain said into his hand as he rubbed it over his face. “What the hell was Riegan thinking?”

Desperate. That was the word he’d used. Ingrid refused to repeat it. “We have a history. It’s not like I can’t easily answer questions about your past.”

“No one is going to interrogate you about whether or not I hit on your granny, which—” He held his finger up at her to cut off her immediate response. “—is such an exaggeration and I still think very agist of you.”

“Sylvain…”

“You… Ingrid—” Sylvain was clearly struggling with what to say, or how to say it. He ran his hand through his hair. Somehow it disturbed the manic wave of his tresses only to settle into something that looked equally rakish. “Hilda knows how to… do this kind of thing. You’re not…” He gestured up and down at her.

“Not. What?” Ingrid asked through gritted teeth. He was lucky she was holding a heavy bag.

Sylvain stared at her. His fingers tapped a staccato rhythm against his thigh. Then, “Devious.”

“Do I need to be?” Ingrid asked. She hadn’t been fully briefed, but it wasn’t as if they were going to talk their way into access to where the programmer was… oh no that was _exactly_ what they were planning on doing wasn’t it? 

Her realization must have shown on her face, because Sylvain softened and put a warm hand on her shoulder. “If I needed someone to shove a pulse pistol into someone’s throat while kicking the teeth out of someone else, you’d be the first I’d call.”

That wasn’t _exactly_ how their last mission had gone. “I was given a mission. I’m following through.”

“Not like we haven’t abandoned—” Sylvain cut himself off. He hated talking about it and frankly, Ingrid did too. Leaving Faerghus had been the hardest decision of her life and she was sure it was the right one, but still sometimes…

“I know this isn’t the best situation, but Claude said it’s urgent.” He sort of said that. See, she was lying already. “Honestly, Sylvain, we've known each other since we were children. How hard could it be?”

The look he gave her was indecipherable. He shook his head and turned away back towards Ruin. “Welcome aboard, I guess.”

Ruin was a corvette, a lean, agile, weapon forward Relic ship. It was half the size of Luín, a beat up old cruiser, but it was also functional. There was an ache she didn’t like while she saw Sylvain roll his sleeves up and activate his ship. The ancient alien tech and whatever was in his blood flared Ruin to life and made the tips of the Crest mark on his arm, peeking out from under his rolled sleeve, glow. 

It was a smooth takeoff, unsurprisingly. There were no better ships in the galaxy, as long as your family had the money for expensive repairs.

“Should be a couple of hours,” Sylvain said, as he engaged the Divine-Pulse Travel drive. The vibration of the ship, humming at its emergence, made the hairs on the back of Ingrid’s neck stand up. 

“Claude said you’d give me the details?”

“He didn’t even give you that much?” Sylvain asked, but didn't wait for her response as he shook his head and paced the small spherical half room that made up the piloting station. “So, the Millennium Festival is going to be crowded. It’s the perfect time for S-Sec to be overwhelmed.”

“Won’t the Seiros Security Knights also be on high alert?” Ingrid couldn’t imagine they wouldn’t be wary during such an event. One-thousand years since the alien species, called Nabateans, gifted their technology and opened up the galaxy. The celebration event was going to be well attended by people from every system. That meant even Adrestia. (That also meant Faerghus, but Ingrid couldn’t think about that right now.)

“Sure,” Sylvain said. “Which is why we don’t want to be two random unofficial Golden Deer Privateers stepping onto the station.”

“Which is what we are.”

Sylvain shook his head at her. “No, darling, we’re a happily married couple. Remember?”

Her knee-jerk reaction was to punch him in the arm or shove him for the ‘darling’ comment, but he was too far away. That was going to be something she’d need to rein in if this was going to work.

“Are we different people?”

“Nah,” Sylvain said. “S-Sec isn’t going to track marriages, but they sure will know if a Crest-bearer—especially _two_ of them—show up on Garreg Mach.”

“So, you and I,” Ingrid said, gesturing between them. “We’re Ingrid and Sylvain. And we’re married?”

“Happily married,” Sylvain said. He was wiggling his eyebrows and giving her an incredibly fake lecherous look.

She rolled her eyes at him. “Fine. When did we become the Gautier-Galateas?” 

Sylvain frowned and then walked forward, hopping off the small step that led to the piloting chamber. “Me and Hilda had a thing worked out, but it’s not going to work for us.”

“Why not?”

Sylvain turned towards her and raised an eyebrow. “You want to say we got blasted on _Herbal_ _Remedies_ , hitched a ride to Hyrm, gothitched, and then decided to stick together afterward?”

“That was your story?” Ingrid crinkled her nose. Why would anyone believe that?

Sylvain nodded. Then he came a little too close to her. “It’d work, because we'd _just_ gotten married.” His fingers picked up a piece of her hair and then pushed it behind her ear. “So we could be stupid newlyweds, who couldn’t keep their hands off each other.”

Ingrid slid her foot back half a centimeter, trying to remain in place. Sylvain was like a furnace when you stood next to him. It was making her uncomfortable and there was an itch on her skin from where his fingers had brushed against it, like tiny shockwaves. “How does that help the mission?”

“It makes us look distracted, stupid, and not a thing they need to pay attention to.” He took another step forward, leaning into her space even farther. She could feel his breath against her forehead. He tilted his head down and his nose almost touched her own.

Ingrid automatically shoved him back. Her face felt like it was on fire and she was sure it was visible. “Fine, that won’t work.”

Sylvain cleared his throat and then paced away from her. He leaned against the wall and pillowed his hands behind his head. “So we have two hours to come up with a cover story both of us can remember easily.”

She’d always pictured herself getting married on Galatea. That picture was a different Ingrid. She hadn’t thought about it since Glenn died. Even when her father insisted she look for another marriage candidate, someone to bring in money for the planet, she just couldn’t. There’d be no simple dress, wind in her hair, and smiling boy she’d loved waiting for her at the end of the aisle. 

“We got married in Ordelia,” she suggested. “Something small, only us and our witnesses.”

“Mm,” Sylvain said. He wasn’t looking at her; he was staring at the ceiling and his mouth was twisting. “Childhood friendship grown into love from strife, bonded by the forge of rebellion, and sealed with a ring.”

“I don’t have a ring,” Ingrid said. Was that something she was supposed to have grabbed? Claude really could have briefed her a little better.

Sylvain dropped his arms to his sides and shoved himself off the wall. “One moment, beloved.”

“Don’t start that,” Ingrid said. 

“You have to get used to affection, stardust!” Sylvain called back as he walked down the hall. 

She frowned at his back and shifted her view to the autopilot. She watched the whirls of light that made up the Crest of Gautier spread apart and then solidify and come back together to make the unknowable alien tech work.

Sylvain was back a moment later with two rings. He got to one knee and held his hand out with one of them.

Ingrid barely held back her laugh. Sylvain grinned at her and held up the pretty silver ring, covered in pink stones. It was definitely for Hilda. Ingrid couldn’t even think of wearing something that ostentatious. It probably cost enough for a refit of the Nav-Steering on Luín. 

“Ingrid Brandywine Galatea,” Sylvain said, very seriously.

“You know that’s not my middle name.”

He ignored her. “Will you do me the honor of being my fake bride?” 

Ingrid sighed and held her left hand out. “I don’t really have any other choice.”

“Ah, just what a guy wants to hear,” Sylvain said. He didn’t slip the pink-stone ring on her finger. Instead it was a simple silver band that seemed to be part of the matched set. “Don’t think the engagement ring is your style, right?”

She smiled at him and helped him to his feet after it was on. “It would mess with my pulse-pistol grip.”

“Ah, just what a guy wants to hear,” Sylvain said again.

She smacked him in the stomach with the back of her hand and he laughed. “If we’d had more time, I would’ve gotten you something more Ingrid-y, but this’ll have to do.”

“What’s more Ingrid-y?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

She was expecting a joke. Instead, Sylvain said, “One of those thin bands that wrap together without any stones on it. They’re more practical and then you could get it in a warmer color. Silver’s not my first choice for you.”

“That sounds… nice,” Ingrid gave him. “I didn’t know you were interested in jewelry.” If he gifted all of his conquests, even the vast Gautier coffers would be depleted by now. 

“I’m a man of many mysteries,” Sylvain said easily, but for some reason didn’t meet her eyes. Ingrid wanted to pester him about it, but they only had a couple of hours to prepare for their mission so they had to get to it.

***

Stepping into Garreg Mach’s arrivals’ zone was like stepping onto an entirely different planet. Ingrid had been on space stations before, many, many times. Even ones as rich and large as Fhirdiad’s, but she’d never seen such a _view_. They were in a dome that looked like it was made out of glass, beyond that dome was a huge stretch of platforms covered in plants, displays, and other colorful things too far for Ingrid to make detail of—and the people, there were so many of them. In the arrivals’ zone alone were more people than could easily fit on Lúin. 

“Don’t gawk, dear,” Sylvain said, as his hand easily slipped into her own, “it makes you look like a commoner.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Ingrid said, pretending to agree and at least play along. Sylvain’s lips twitched into a more sincere smile and his hand squeezed her own. 

“S-Sec shouldn’t take long,” Sylvain said. “I’m sure they have much more important issues to handle than two newlyweds looking for some fun.”

“I don’t know if I want as much fun as you want,” Ingrid replied. This time Sylvain’s smile morphed into a grin. She barely resisted the urge to elbow him. 

It took them a while to get to the front of the line. The large splay of Seiros Security Knights were overwhelmed by visitors, but each seemed to be taking precautions to vet all entrants. Ingrid hoped deserter status hadn’t put she and Sylvain on any lists that weren’t related to Faerghus. 

The S-Sec officer that greeted them had the kind of brown hair that seemed like it used to be blond, but had darkened throughout the years—and rather unfortunate facial hair that stretched out over his beaming smile. 

“Welcome to Garreg Mach!” Officer—Ingrid checked his badge—Alois Rangeld said. 

“Thank you,” Sylvain replied smoothly. “It’s… quite a view already.”

“Ah,” Officer Rangeld clucked his tongue. “First timers, eh? You’re in for a treat. The events planned for the coming days are out of this world… or should I say out of this station?” 

He paused, waiting, as if that were supposed to be a joke they should respond to. 

Neither Sylvain nor Ingrid noted it as one and there was an awkward silence amidst the rumbling crowds. Sylvain cleared his throat to ease past it, as he transferred their travel authorization to Officer Rangeld’s screen, with an easy flick of his hand. “Yeah, we thought we’d do something special and there doesn’t seem to be anything more special than celebrating a thousand years of the Goddess’s gift of space travel.”

Boy, he could lay it on thick. Ingrid knew her nose was crinkling and she was looking at him skeptically, but she caught herself too late to adjust her expression. 

Officer Rangeld’s smile seemed to slowly curve downwards as he looked over their information. “I don’t know if I like what I’m seeing here,” he said. 

Ingrid felt her hand start to get clammy and her pulse raced. Sylvain squeezed her hand a little too hard. He didn’t even look her way as he did it, instead he leaned towards Officer Rangeld’s station with a mixture of surprise and concern on his face. “Is there a problem?”

“It seems as if you got these updated recently,” Officer Rangeld said. 

“We got married,” Ingrid said. She must have said it a little stiffly, because Sylvain’s hand squeezed her own again, harder this time. A very clear ‘shut it, Ingrid’ signal.

“Ah yes,” Officer Rangeld said, “but there’s a problem, you see.”

“I’m afraid we don’t,” Sylvain said, his brow furrowing in concern. She could see his other hand resting on his trousers where his pulse pistol usually rested. 

Officer Rangeld looked up from his screen and addressed them both with a somber expression. “You’ll have to leave and go to the moon of Remire. After all you can’t have a honey- _station_.”

The pause again, as if that were a joke. After a moment, Ingrid realized it _was_ and coughed over a noise that wasn’t quite a laugh. Sylvain chuckled, uneasily. 

For his part, Officer Rangeld didn’t seem to notice. He laughed at his own joke and his smile returned as he looked down towards his screen again. “Says here you arrived on a Relic! That certainly is something.”

“Family heirloom,” Sylvain said, some of his ease coming back. Ingrid couldn’t tell if it was all tied into the act or not. He was worryingly good at this. “I suppose you could say it runs in the blood.”

The laugh that escaped the S-Sec officer was jarring. It seemed to even take him by surprise and had him wheezing a little. He grinned at Sylvain and shook his finger. “Don’t try to drive me to distraction, I don’t have my license.”

The laugh that escaped _Sylvain_ was jarring. Ingrid snapped her head towards him, confused at the garbled chuckle that forced its way out of his mouth. There was no way he thought that was funny.

Of course he didn’t, they were pretending. Damn it.

“Well,” Officer Rangeld said, too pleased. “You don’t want me taking up all your time. A few questions for you and then you can be on your way to enjoy the sights—as long as you don’t need optic upgrades.”

Ingrid attempted a small laugh, but it sounded so blatantly off that even Officer Rangeld looked at her funny. She smiled at him and then ducked her head, embarrassed. The snort at her side from Sylvain sounded sincere, but clearly at her expense. 

“We’re happy to answer any questions,” Sylvain said, drawing the attention back to himself. 

“Let’s see here,” Officer Rangeld said, reading something on his screen. “When is it that you two met?”

Sylvain frowned, twisting his mouth. Then he looked towards Ingrid. “Were we four or five?”

“You were six,” Ingrid replied immediately, relieved to do something right.

“Right, you were four,” Sylvain said, nodding. He turned back to the S-Sec officer. “We’ve known each other since we were kids.”

“Mm, it says here you flew in from the Leicester System, but you’re on our records as citizens of Faerghus.”

“Former citizens,” Sylvain said. “It’s a long story, but my lovely bride and I used to be security, like yourself, until we decided to move to more peaceful pastures.”

That was one way of putting it.

“Didn’t want to bride your time, eh?” Officer Rangeld said. This time Ingrid didn’t attempt a laugh. Sylvain’s was a little strained. Officer Rangeld shrugged. “I’ll workshop that one. So childhood sweethearts, I take it?”

“Mm, not exactly,” Sylvain said. “More like, childhood-put-up-with-each-others.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Ingrid said.

Sylvain shook his head. “You say that now, in front of people, but when we get home it’ll be all ‘Sylvain you were such a lay-a-bout’ and ‘Sylvain why did you hit on that hologram?’”

“Why did you?” Officer Rangeld asked. He seemed incredibly genuine as he did.

Ingrid couldn’t help the startled guffaw that eased its way out of her throat. She covered her mouth immediately and felt herself flush. Sylvain looked down at her with fond amusement. Officer Rangeld looked between them and them hummed to himself as he pressed something on his workstation that turned the red barrier in front of them to green. 

“I don’t see any issues here. You two enjoy your visit and have a nice trip!” Officer Rangeld waved them through and then as they passed him added, “But make sure you don’t fall!” 

His booming, cheerful laugh followed them as they made their way further onto the station. 

***

The room they were staying in was fancier than she was used to since they’d defected. There were purple and pink anemone petals strewn across the carpeting and on the bed itself. 

It wasn’t as if she didn’t like flowers. She just liked them growing out of something rather than dug up and thrown around. Galatea had enough issues growing plants with the solar flares the last few years, it seemed pointless to kill something that was growing.

“That seems like a waste,” Ingrid said.

Sylvain rolled his eyes and flopped backwards onto the bed, letting out a harried breath—it sounded like he’d been holding it in the entire walk here. “Newlyweds, Ingrid.”

“Just because you get married doesn’t mean you have to change your entire personality,” Ingrid retorted.

“I would never wish to change anything about your lovely personality,” Sylvain said, dryly. He had his eyes closed and looked far too relaxed on the bed. She tossed his bag onto his stomach, pleased with the ‘oof’ of surprise as it landed. 

“We should talk about the… celebration,” Ingrid said, instead of ‘mission.’ 

“Right,” Sylvain sat up, moving his bag off to the side and bruising some of the flower petals. “Let me see what clothes you brought.”

“Why?” Ingrid put her hands on her hips.

“Because you’re not going to fit Hilda’s dress. There’s a significant height difference,” Sylvain said, and then smirked and made a lewd gesture with his chest. “Also a length difference.” 

Ingrid’s face felt warm. She ignored him and picked up her bag, pulling out her clothes. “What’s the dress code?” Ingrid asked as she went through the things she’d shoved as quickly as possible into her case. 

It had been a while since she’d been forced to attend anything that required makeup or fancy party clothes. There was a small stab in her chest as she remembered the way Annette and Mercedes helped her dress for the last event in Faerghus, but it disappeared shortly after it came. 

“None of these are going to work,” Sylvain said, frowning as he held up one piece of clothing after the other. “Didn’t you even bring a dress?”

“I don’t own a dress,” Ingrid said. “What about these?” She asked as she held up the formal trousers that she liked to wear for strategy meetings since they didn’t have official uniforms.

The look on Sylvian’s face was withering. He sighed and lifted himself up off the bed. “I’ll be back. Don’t go anywhere and don’t talk to anyone.” 

Ingrid wrinkled her nose at him, but after that short disaster of a conversation with the S-Sec officer, she couldn’t find it in herself to object. 

***

It was late by the time Sylvain came back. He yawned and then looked over at the bed that Ingrid had cleaned off frivolous flower petals and then his eyes settled on her. “Are you eating our romantic marriage chocolates without me?”

“Yes,” Ingrid said, popping one into her mouth. It fizzed a little, not unpleasantly. “You took too long.”

“An old married couple already.” He looked at the bed again and then leered at Ingrid. “You know if we really want to make this believable, we’re going to need to mess up the bed a bit. I have a few sug—”

The pillow she threw landed perfectly against his face, cutting off the rest of that sentence. Sylvain chuckled and tucked it underneath his arm, looking around the floor. “I can probably bunk out on the floor with the comforter.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ingrid said. It wasn’t as if he’d actually try anything with her. She wasn’t so sure she’d trust him with anyone else after all the messes she’d had to clean up over the years, but she had no worries about herself being an unquenchable object of his short attention span’s desire. “There’s enough room.”

Sylvain edged towards the bed carefully. “You sure you can keep yourself in check, Ingrid? Not get overcome with the urge to ravish me in the middle of the night?”

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” Ingrid said, rolling her eyes. 

They had a very big day ahead of them tomorrow, so Sylvain didn’t waste too much time goofing around before changing into his sleep clothes and getting into bed next to her. The covers still smelled like anemone flowers which was strange and… nice, actually. The room was quiet and Ingrid could hear Sylvain breathing evenly. Somehow she knew he wasn’t asleep.

“It’s like being on Fhirdiad,” she whispered to the dark, “when we’d all stay up so late we’d fall asleep in the same bed.”

“Yeah,” Sylvain said, a melancholy to his voice he didn’t often release. “Those were the days, huh?”

Ingrid sometimes dreamt of a life that had gone differently—where she’d married Glenn and settled herself to revitalizing her homeworld—but she’d never let herself really linger on the thought once she was awake. It was only that, a dream, and nothing more. The only thing Ingrid could focus on was the future. Still…

“Do you miss them?” Ingrid asked, softly.

She didn’t specify if she meant the days, Faerghus, or their friends. 

“Don’t think I ever stopped,” Sylvain said quietly. 

“Me neither,” Ingrid agreed. It was so much easier to do in the dark. Sylvain’s bare arm was next to hers; she could feel the heat emanating off of it. He always ran so warm. She remembered fighting Felix for the right to use him as a human heating pad if it was just the three of them. 

Ingrid trailed her fingers down in a path towards Sylvain’s hand and held it with her own. Sylvain squeezed her hand back and much like they had when they were younger, they fell asleep like that.

***

Ingrid could’ve spent the entire day putting her dress on. The lines of it were pretty and she didn’t exactly hate how she looked in it, but there were so many strings and ways to tangle her arms in the different ways the fabric of the sleeves folded over itself. The color was a deep green, darker than Fraldarius teals, and deeper than Fhirdiad blues. It wasn’t quite the Galatea color either, but she always felt more settled in green. 

“I can’t hide any weapons in this,” Ingrid pointed out, as Sylvain continued to fuss over his hair in the bathroom for the last half hour. 

“You’re not allowed to have weapons on the promenade, stardust,” Sylvain drawled. “They have scanners for every entrance.” 

That was why they’d hidden theirs in the docking bay. Hopefully once they found this programmer, they wouldn’t need them. It was at least in the direction they needed to head either way.

Sylvain came out of the bathroom, looking obnoxiously handsome as always, but with the added touch of the easy elegance he carried while wearing a suit. His collar was loose and the buttons at the top were undone. Ingrid bet he’d have his sleeves rolled up even before they were on the job.

“You’re _really_ wearing that dress,” Sylvain said, making Ingrid realize he’d been looking her over. 

“You did a good job guessing my size,” Ingrid said as she picked invisible lint off the silky emerald fabric. 

“Suits you,” Sylvain said, not meeting her eyes. He hummed to himself and adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves. Then he held his arm out, gallantly, like they were attending a royal ball. Those were events neither of them had done much of, either sneaking into the back of it when they were too young to go or sneaking _out_ of the back of it when they were old enough to be made to go.

The Promenade was a chaotic open space that looked more planet-like than any station Ingrid had ever been on. There were so many plants and trees growing wildly from the sides in a pattern that must have been intentional, but somehow still appeared natural. There were even long artificial lakes cradling the sides of some of the paths. Ingrid was sure she’d seen a fish or two in one of them.

The Nabatean technology was a marvel. She would have loved to have gotten some this tech for Galatea—but it, like the Fell Star Code, was too well kept by the Church. 

“This place makes Fraldarius look impoverished,” Sylvain said, echoing her thoughts. 

Ingrid wobbled a little as she got used to her shoes. The heels weren’t too high, but she wasn’t used to the difference. She was glad she had Sylvain’s arm to hold onto at least. “They could do so many things if they’d share this with—” She cut herself off before the actual secret stealth plan rattled out of her mouth. 

Sylvain eyed her sideways, his nostrils flaring a little in frustration. “Ingrid.”

“I _know_ ,” Ingrid said, and then almost tipped forward in her annoyance. Sylvain caught her before she tumbled into one of those beautiful lakes and ruined her expensive dress. He pulled her backwards so that his arms were flush against her sides. She felt her face heat up a little in the embarrassment of such a foolish stumble. 

“Okay, we’re doubling back for your boots,” Sylvain said, his hands still spanning her waist. His fingers were warm against the silk of the dress.

“They won’t go with my outfit,” Ingrid objected. “And that was… I was distracted. I remember how to walk in these.”

“You must’ve been barefoot for the wedding,” Sylvain murmured behind her. His breath tickled her ear. 

“Not outside,” Ingrid said. She’d checked planetary alignments of Ordelia and what season the area of the planet they’d decided on would’ve been in. “I’m not the one who eagerly goes after frostbite.”

When Ingrid finally got her footing back and turned around, Sylvain let his hands drop from her sides immediately. She could still feel the imprint of his fingers like they were still there, a buzz beneath her skin. 

Sylvain had been grinning, but looked away from her and then rubbed the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t say _eagerly._ Though it did help me meet that adorable medtech.” 

“You’re incorrigible,” Ingrid sighed, smoothing the sides of her dress at her waist.

Sylvain shrugged and then turned back to her. The grin on his face was a little more false than before, though she only knew that from knowing him so long. “I’m reformed now, my lovely wife.” 

“You’d better be,” Ingrid said, fighting a smile. “Or else the next place I’ll trip this heel into won’t be so comfortable.”

Sylvain laughed. “Okay now we’re really doubling back for the boots.” 

Ingrid tried to talk Sylvain out of it, but her almost-accident had lent credence to the idea of practical shoes to and from the Grand Hall. No one had to know if the ‘from’ wasn’t going back to their room. 

Ingrid expected to be prepared for the pageantry, given that she’d grown up and was almost married to Faerghus nobility, but the extent of the Grand Hall was unbelievable. To call such a _stadium_ a hall seemed a false equivalence. She understood now how easily she and Sylvain would be able to slip out undetected. The place was already half-full with earlier gatherings for the Millennium Festival and it was a never-ending stream of people. She’d never been in a place so big on a station before. There weren’t places like this unless her feet were on solid ground and the open sky was above her.

As if prompted by that thought, Ingrid looked up and opened her mouth, gawking at the expansive window above them. Space peeled around every corner as if it was within reaching distance. She’d never seen it like this except on space walks and even then there was never the view of the Divine Transference Gates winding their whirling arrays of light as ships entered and exited them in a hazing blur as if they were cutting directly through space like it was a cloth sheet. 

“That is some view,” Ingrid said, when she realized she was gawking—an unbecoming slip, but not one that would really make or break their cover. When she looked to see Sylvain’s teasing eyes, she only caught the sharp jut of his jaw lifted upwards, past the relays. 

Ingrid followed his gaze, seeing the small cluster of what could have easily been debris if she didn’t know better. 

The Holy Tomb. An asteroid belt that contained shards and fragments of ancient destroyed Relic Ships. The conflict there had been a breaking point for their King and for Sylvain and Ingrid’s loyalties to this war. 

Ingrid grabbed for Sylvain’s hand and squeezed it. He blinked off whatever thoughts were keeping him stuck to that view and looked down at her. “Some view, huh?” he said, echoing her prior statement.

She wondered if he heard her or if they were that in sync. Ingrid smiled at him and tugged his hand. “We should look around before it gets busy.”

“Yes, dear,” Sylvain said, laughing as she elbowed him in the ribs. 

***

The official reason behind lingering in the Grand Hall was that Ingrid and Sylvain needed to establish that their cover was real. They were two Crest-bearers, who did not have any connection to one of the major militaries, on a honeymoon. It meant, unofficially, that Ingrid got to spend a few hours with Sylvain, trying different food stations and forcing herself to pace her gorging, if only to keep her dress clean. 

“I love watching you eat,” Sylvain said, more than once. 

She amicably shared a little with him, if only to keep their cover. 

They were able to walk and chat with people, though Sylvain did most of the talking. Ingrid kept finding her gaze lifting up to the expanse of space above them and wondering if it was actually below, based on where the station was in rotation. 

She almost knocked directly into a short green-haired girl while she was gazing. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” Ingrid said automatically.

“No need to apologize,” the girl said sweetly. Or maybe she wasn’t a girl, she looked a little older than a teen, it was difficult to tell. “I am certain that you are new to Garreg Mach Station by your admiration of the Arcane Crystal Viewing Shield.” She smiled up at Ingrid. “It is very common to be enraptured by it to the point of distraction.”

“I was just going to blame her shoes,” Sylvain said with a sly smile.

The girl eyed him carefully. “Are you new as well?”

“First time on the station,” Sylvain said, nodding. He put an arm around Ingrid. It was warm and comfortable. She didn’t even have a knee-jerk reaction to shrug it off. She wasn’t complaining about the warmth either, given what she was wearing. “It timed well with our nuptials so we figured we might as well go to the greatest party in the Fódlan System if we couldn’t have a real reception.” 

“I see,” the girl said, humming thoughtfully. She smiled brightly at them. “I hope you are finding it up to your expectations.”

“It’s beautifully organized,” Ingrid said, happy for a chance to talk without fumbling around the lie of her and Sylvain’s _nuptials_. “It must have taken a lot of work to put all of this together, everything is so streamlined and efficient.”

Sylvain shot an exasperated, but partially fond look at Ingrid. “Only you would come up with ‘efficient’ as a compliment for such a fancy soiree.” 

Ingrid didn’t even get a chance to bristle (she was sure the fond part of that look was only part of Sylvain’s act), because the girl lit up excitedly and grabbed Ingrid’s hands. “Oh, do you truly think so? That means so much to me!” She seemed to realize her impulsive movement and let go of Ingrid’s hands, a flush coloring her space-pale skin. “My name is Flayn. I am the Station Administrator’s Assistant and I organized the Millennial Festival this year.” 

“That is a lot of work for an administrative assistant,” Sylvain said, with an impressed whistle.

Flayn bristled. “I am the assistant to the station’s administrator, _not_ an administrative assistant.”

Sylvain badly covered his amusement. “My apologies. Assistant Administrator Flayn.” He still had his arm around Ingrid and gestured towards her with his head. “This is Ingrid and I’m Sylvain. Ingrid is right, this is a really well-run event. I doubt I could manage this many people.” 

Ingrid fought down the urge to tell him that he _could_ if he got his act together and actually focused on important administrative tasks rather than flirting with the latest poor new tech recruit. “The food is _wonderful_ too,” Ingrid added.

Sylvain coughed a laugh into his fist. “Yes, very diverse tastes. I’ve never had a fruit and herring tart before.” 

“It was very important to Overseer Rhea that we represent every part of the Fódlan system.” 

Ingrid was surprised by that, but maybe she shouldn’t have been. As tight fisted as the Church of Seiros was with Nabatean technology, Rhea (who most referred to in less official station staff related company as the Archbishop) did seem to strive towards keeping the peace and let the transference routes be used by every part of the galaxy. 

The problem was that they were using the routes for war effort as well and the Church had done nothing to stop that, preferring neutrality over action. Ingrid might not have liked lying, stealing, or any part of this mission, but she knew how important it was. 

“Oh, you are from Faerghus!” Flayn said excitedly, drawing Ingrid’s attention back too late to be useful. She was holding out her wrist, where a beam of text danced in front of it. A beam of text that held both Ingrid and Sylvain’s Crest symbols. 

Hell.

Sylvain squeezed the shoulder his hand was resting on—she wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be reassuring or critical. “Ah, not any more. We left because of the war. We’re citizens of the Leicester System now.”

“Really?” Flayn seemed intrigued. She tilted her head a little, glancing at her view of the stream of text and then waved her hand so that it disappeared before giving Sylvain her full attention. “You must have fallen in love very dramatically!” She seemed excited by the prospect. Her hands clasped in front of her. “Oh please tell me how you fell in love! I find romantic originations so wonderful, but my fa—the Administrator is a stick-in-the-mud about such things.”

Ingrid panicked a little, trying to come up with something. What had she and Sylvain decided on? She couldn’t remember—she wasn’t sure they’d come up with something that specific. Ingrid didn’t expect people to ask her how or when she fell in love as a random point of conversation. 

“I don’t know if it was dramatic, so much as following drama,” Sylvain said, easily. His smile was loose and undefined. She’d never seen him wear one like it before. If she didn’t know better she’d say it was sincere. “We’d finished a pretty rough mission, at least for me, at Conand Station. Miklan…” He cleared his throat a little. “My brother didn't have a Crest and stole the family’s Relic Ship. It, ah… didn’t turn out well for him. I really blamed myself for it. I still think I could’ve talked him down if I’d—”

“Don’t do that,” Ingrid said automatically. She knew this at least was sincere. Sylvain was always blaming himself for things outside of his control. “You tried your hardest your entire life to be kind to him. It’s not your fault he refused to accept it.”

Sylvain gave a soft laugh and looked at his feet, playing into the entire bit perfectly. “See, _that_. Ingrid never stopped believing in me, even when I didn’t really think there was something to believe in. I knew and was right that she’d be the only person who believed in me enough to leave Faerghus. How do you not fall in love with that?” 

Ingrid stared at Sylvain, looking for his patented trace of sharpness in his smile to indicate an affectation, but his delivery was flawless. She had been impressed before, but now she was—

“Oh!” Flayn said excitedly, cutting off her train of thought. “I recall that mission! That means you must have been in the Blue Lions Space Marines?” She grinned brightly. “You must know Felix!”

Ingrid felt her stomach drop and swallowed hard as Sylvain stared, frozen in uncharacteristic fright, as Flayn turned around and waved down a painfully familiar figure. 

“Macuil’s feathered asshole,” Sylvain swore under his breath. 

Felix hadn’t changed much in the last few years. His hair was shorter, but his face was still as harsh and unforgiving as had turned after Glenn’s death. His frustrated expression as Flayn caught his attention (and then subsequent giving into the request without any real objection beyond that) was so familiar it ached.

It was also making Sylvain panic. “Don’t talk. Don’t say _anything_ ,” Sylvain said quickly, dropping his arm from around her to run both his hands through his hair.

“What?” Ingrid looked up at him. “You can’t be serious—”

“Felix!” Sylvain said, with a smile so fake it could’ve been beamed onto his face with a hologram. “What are the odds? Great to see you.”

Felix’s frustrated glare turned into a dark, cool expression that was somehow even less friendly. 

“I thought you might know each other,” Flayn said, slightly smug and not picking up on the palpable tension that was thrumming between them. 

“We don’t,” Felix said, short and to the point. “Not anymore.” 

“Ouch,” Sylvain said, pretending that didn’t bother him. “Come on, Felix. Loosen up.”

Felix’s response to that was merely to glare at Sylvain, as if he could spear him with that look alone—which wouldn’t have been the most efficient route, since there appeared to be an actual, normal, _metal_ sword on his hip.

“I thought weapons weren’t allowed?” Ingrid asked, before thinking better of it. 

It seemed to be the right choice, however, as Felix’s gaze drifted down to the sword at his side. Then he adjusted his stance so that both hands were on his hips and turned his attention to her instead. 

“Pulse weapons aren’t allowed,” Felix corrected.

“It’s decorative,” Flayn said. “Also efficient. He entertained some children for me earlier by slicing fruit! It was very impressive.”

Felix’s cool demeanor slipped for a moment and he looked away, not accomplishing hiding the flush creeping up his neck at all. “Tch. I’m not going to practice on you if that’s what you’re worried about. Faerghus traitors and war criminals are welcome here, after all.” 

“I did notice the Emperor’s consort,” Sylvain said, a little too easily. Ingrid wasn’t sure what he was doing other than baiting Felix, which didn’t seem to be the correct move at the moment. 

“You missed her lapdog then,” Felix scoffed and his fists tightened at his sides.

“I must apologize,” Flayn said sincerely, directed at Felix’s back. “I did not realize you had a troubled history. I had no intention of causing you strife, but when Sylvain and Ingrid Gautier told me of their—”

Felix turned around and immediately cut her off, staring at Ingrid and then Sylvain. “ _Gautier_?” 

“Sorry we couldn’t invite you to the wedding,” Sylvain said, still too easily and still baiting. He put his arm around Ingrid’s shoulders again. It felt less comfortable this time. “Being war criminals and all.”

Felix narrowed his eyes at Sylvain, studying him for a cold, hard second and then his gaze shifted to Ingrid. “What changed?”

“It’s. Well, it’s a lot of things, I suppose. I mean, Felix it has been a while,” Ingrid said, stumbling her way through. “Sylvain and I have both changed.”

Felix stared at her now, eyes narrowing and then back to Sylvain. “Bullshit. What are you two up to?” 

“They’re on their honeymoon,” Flayn said, looking genuinely abashed that she’d caused such a frigid and terse reunion. 

“You came to Garreg Mach,” Felix asked slowly, “for your _honeymoon_?”

“Can’t exactly hit the hot springs on Charon, can we?” Sylvain’s smile had gone a little tight around the edges. Ingrid could practically feel his heart hammering in his chest.

Felix hadn’t bought it and could easily blow their cover. Ingrid didn’t have the skill to push forward with a lie like this and pull it off. It was hard enough lying to the friendly, very unfunny, S-Sec officer. Lying to the person that was supposed to be her brother-in-law? That was next to impossible. But Sylvain and Felix had been closer than the two moons orbiting Fhirdiad for a long time, longer than Ingrid and Sylvain had been part of the Golden Deer Privateers. That was actually impossible. 

So Ingrid _had_ to be the one to do it.

“I am sorry you weren’t there,” Ingrid said, stepping forward and out of Sylvain’s arm. She grabbed for a truth so she didn’t have to lie. “I always imagined you at my wedding.”

Felix drew his sharp gaze away from the both of them and tightened his jaw. “Bringing up—that’s not going to distract me, Ingrid. I know you’re both full of it. There’s absolutely no way that Sylvain actually—”

“We did want you there,” Sylvain said, cutting him off. “We did ask, Felix. You didn't want to come, remember?”

Ingrid hadn’t been a part of the ‘we’ when that happened. She and Sylvain had left so quickly there was no time to ask if the third to their quartet also wanted desperately out of the needless aggression and casualties. 

Felix scoffed again, it was harder around the edges. “You mean I didn’t want to _betray_ and abandon everyone I know and care about?” 

If they’d been younger, Ingrid would’ve expected Felix and Sylvain to be in a tussle by this point. That might have been better than this strained friction between them.

“Didn’t help though, did it?” Sylvain asked, cooly. The casual cruelty behind his eyes was a little frightening. It should have prepared Ingrid for his next words, but it didn’t. “You staying didn’t change a damn thing for His Majesty. Can’t get between Dimitri and his true love, revenge.”

Felix’s hand twitched and for a moment Ingrid thought he might actually draw his sword on Sylvain. She put her hand on Sylvain’s arm and softly, but firmly said, “Stop it.”

It felt like when she was too young to be acting as the responsible one, but doing it all the same—when all of them were so young.

Ingrid watched Sylvain look away from the both of them, crossing his arms over his chest. Then she took another step towards Felix. His posture was stiff, like a cat ready to bolt or lash out. “It was never an easy choice, Felix,” she said, softly. “For us or you. Please don’t think I don’t understand that.” 

"You _don’t_ understand,” Felix said sharply. “You abandoned your planet, responsibilities, and friends. For someone who always nattered on about the idealism of serving the Kingdom you turned your back on it quick enough.”

“My ideals and values still hold with the people I swore to protect,” Ingrid said, and unlike Sylvain, not rising to the bait. “And I still care about them. You and Dimitri included. The difference is that I could do nothing to protect any of you while I was there. If you believe that you can, then I understand why you stayed.” 

“You’re still insufferable,” Felix muttered. He turned his back on them and walked off in the direction Flayn had originally gotten his attention from. Flayn awkwardly excused herself and followed suit. 

Ingrid glanced back at Sylvain to see him staring up at the endless star field above them. “Sylvain…”

Sylvain sighed and rubbed his hand through his hair mussing it up in the opposite direction he’d purposefully mussed it earlier. It still looked good. He glanced down at her. “Let’s get some dancing in before those shoes of yours snap.”

“Sylvain,” Ingrid tried again. “Do you want to talk about what—”

“No,” Sylvain said, cutting her off. He held his arm out for her and his smile was strained, but seemed sincere. “I want to dance with my best girl.” 

***

“You’re still good at this,” Ingrid murmured, as Sylvain brought her forward, his hand encompassing the small of her back. “Must be a lot of practice.”

“Not really,” Sylvain said. He swayed against the music and was close enough she could smell the musk of his soap. 

“You’ve never taken a girl out on the star field for a dance?” Ingrid teased. She didn’t get too specific; they were surrounded by people.

Sylvain drew her even closer and she felt his smile against her temple. “Only you, Ingrid. I wouldn’t use any of our childhood ‘dance lessons’ with anyone else.” He made a thoughtful noise. “Unless it was that or being forced out an airlock.” 

Ingrid snorted. “ _That_ makes me feel special.”

“You should,” Sylvain said quietly. Then he cleared his throat and pulled back a bit, taking her a few steps over so they weren’t as close to the pair of dancers near them. 

From the distance, Ingrid could see the retinue of security following the Emperor’s consort as she also danced along to the music. Near her, sandwiched between two other security guards, was Hubert von Vestra, Edelgard’s intelligence officer—or the empire’s entire intelligence unit if rumors were to be believed. She hadn’t noticed him earlier. She hadn’t noticed Dorothea von Hresvelg either. 

“Why do you think they’re here?” Ingrid asked quietly. 

Sylvain raised an eyebrow and looked at her then shrugged. “Doubt it’s for the same reason we are.” 

“Still,” Ingrid said.

“It’s the Millennium Festival,” Sylvain said. “There was bound to be people from every part of the galaxy. The blood of the Nabateans is what makes the systems run.”

“It doesn’t feel right,” Ingrid said. None of this did, but it wasn’t something that came naturally to her—lying or the frivolity. More than that, the fact that two of the Emperor’s closest companions and Felix were on the station felt like more than a coincidence. She wanted to say more, but she didn’t, choosing instead to change the subject since they couldn’t actually talk about the mission here. 

“Did you really ask Felix to come with us?”

Sylvain’s height put him at too much of an advantage when he wanted to avoid eye contact with her, especially this close to each other. His jaw shifted and she could see his mouth forming a frown. 

“I asked him first.” He made a noise, a husk of a laugh. “Thought the whole best friends since infancy thing would make him an easy yes.”

“You didn’t think I’d be an easy yes?”

Sylvain’s mouth shifted from the half-form frown to a wan smile and he looked up so she got a good view of his chin. “When are you an easy anything? Ingrid, I was half convinced you’d stab me and report me for treason.”

“What happened to knowing I always believe in you?” Ingrid tried teasing, but it came out wrong. 

Sylvain didn’t say anything for a moment, still swaying to the music, the dance had become no more than that. Their former tutors would be horrified. “I don’t know if I could’ve left if you hadn’t come with me.” 

It was too crowded to be called anything but quiet, but for a second Ingrid felt like she was in her spacesuit, drifting to the calm waves of the sky. “I don’t regret it.”

Sylvain looked down at her again, his expression soft and his mouth slightly open. He looked like he was going to say something, but an announcement loudly blared over the nearest speaker that had been previously playing a slow song. 

They were given instruction to look up and then the expanse of space above them changed to a shifting image of the Archbishop’s smiling face. 

“Not horrifying at all,” Sylvain said, barely under his breath. Ingrid elbowed him and he chuffed a laugh.

Rhea’s smile curled around the edges and spread across the encompassing ceiling. When Ingrid glanced further down it looked as if there were a never-ending line of Rheas, all moving at the same time. Maybe Sylvain had a point.

“Welcome all to Garreg Mach Station,” Rhea’s voice said, echoing across the speakers. “It is my great honor to be the overseer during this momentous occasion. A thousand years ago today, the Nabateans graced the first overseer, Seiros, with their gifts. That day changed the course of the history of the Fódlan Galaxy and ascended us towards the heavens. The gift, that never forgotten race gave to us, of Divine Pulse Travel, allowed furtherance of Seiros’s mission and the ability to settle this very station.”

The image flickered for a moment to an outside view of the station, giving Ingrid vertigo before it switched back to Rhea again, still with a serene smile.

“Today we celebrate the Nabateans, their divine gifts, and the great Goddess Star, who fell so long ago.” 

Sylvain nudged Ingrid. With everyone around them watching the screen, it was the perfect time to slip out. He grabbed her hand and they made their way for the exit. She tried to think about having her boots again and not about how they were going to manage pulling the rest of this mission off.

***

Ingrid finished zipping up her stolen maintenance suit, while Sylvain went over their authorization codes again. She couldn’t believe the things that were possible if a few gold credits slipped into the right hands. Ingrid made a mental note to make sure there were better security provisions onboard the White Wyvern Station.

“What do I do with this?” Ingrid asked, holding up the silky fabric she’d been wearing most of the day. 

“Throw it out,” Sylvain said after glancing at it and then back down again to their codes. “These are… a couple of days out of date. Riegan got stiffed. We should… we should get a move on is what we should do.”

“I’m not throwing it out. It must’ve cost a fortune,” Ingrid protested. That was such a waste of resources, not to mention the things they’d left in their room. 

“Wear it like a hat then,” Sylvain said. He snapped his communication reader closed and shoved it in his coverall pocket. “When we get noticed by S-Sec and taken in as traitors to the Church, at least you won’t have wasted resources.”

“You were nicer to me when I was wearing it,” Ingrid said, looking at it mournfully. She settled for shoving it into the locker where they’d gotten the suits from. Maybe tomorrow a nice maintenance worker who wanted to dress up would get a surprise. 

“I’m always nice,” Sylvain protested. 

_Not before. Not to Felix_. Ingrid didn’t say that, instead she pursed her lips and grabbed the toolkit that didn’t hold any tools. She would’ve preferred it held a weapon, but there were scanners for that everywhere on the promenade, including the maintenance hatches. 

“Something about this doesn’t feel right,” Ingrid said. 

“It’s not supposed to feel right.” Sylvain squeezed her shoulder and his lips quirked into a smirk. “But at least it was fun while it lasted, right?”

“I’d love if this next part was fun too,” Ingrid said. Sylvain’s smirk blossomed into a full smile and then he sighed and shook his head, gesturing her forward.

“We’re never that lucky.” 

They made their way through the Promenade without too much trouble. People never cared enough to pay attention to service workers, bot or organic. Climbing into the maintenance hatch didn’t cause Ingrid any trouble either, although Sylvain had more than a little trouble fitting in correctly and kept swearing any time they had to round one of the corners to get to where they needed to go.

The hatch they dropped down into didn’t exist in any of the formal schematics of the station, but there was a lot left out of the schematics apparently. There was a ring of rooms surrounding the heart of the station, the largest for the Archbishop, of course, but there were other rooms here as well. Standing outside of one of them was a person with light green hair. 

They looked up at Sylvain and Ingrid as they approached. Their eyes were an eerie shade of green as well. It reminded Ingrid of the old pictures of the Nabateans, except there was a sheen to them like they were carved out of glass. The way the person blinked was also unsettling. 

“Hello,” they said.

“Are you Teach?” Sylvain asked. It was the codename Claude had given them for the programmer, something that wouldn’t cause as much of a fuss when asked of the wrong person.

“Byleth,” the person, apparently Byleth, said, with a nod. “You’re here to get me out?” 

Ingrid nodded and sharply took a breath as the light hit Byleth from a different angle. Half their face was covered in an intricate web of fine silver netting. It wasn’t organic material. “You’re… a bot?”

“Android,” Byleth corrected. “Bio-organic. Mostly. It’s a long story.” They gestured ahead of them. “So we’re going right? I packed.” They held up a bag as if to prove their statement. 

Sylvain looked at the bag and snorted, shaking off his own awe and unease. “I’m Sylvain, this is Ingrid. We’re here to get you out of here,” he said in agreement. “Do you have the code in there or do we need to stop somewhere for it?”

“I have it,” Byleth said. They picked up their bag and slung it over their shoulder. “Proximity alarms should alert Rhea to my departure fourteen point three seconds after we cross the threshold of the ionic cathedral.”

“That’s the generator that runs the station?” Ingrid asked. Considering how powerful it was, it was easy to believe that it masked such a large area on the station.

Byleth nodded and they made their way back through the maintenance tunnels. The trip out was a little tenser than the trip in. Sylvain still had trouble navigating around corners, but they all felt compelled to move a little faster and worry less about stealth when those 14.3 seconds passed and the proximity alarms blared so loudly the tunnel shook. 

Sylvain dropped down first once they found the juncture that would lead them directly to the docking bay and their pulse pistols. Ingrid wasn’t sure in the grand scheme of things it would make a difference to the entire force of Garreg Mach Security, but she’d feel better strapped with her own. 

“You are not going to blend in as much as I was hoping,” Sylvain said, looking at Byleth. Now that they were in even better lighting, even without the clear inorganic component to the programmer, the green hair was too unusual and striking to ignore. 

Byleth was not paying attention to Sylvain, rather they were looking around the tops of each of the windows they passed. They looked a little like Ingrid had felt when she first entered the station.

“You’ve never been out here, have you?” Ingrid asked.

Byleth looked down and met her eyes. They shook their head. “Rhea was too worried I would be damaged. After we came here, I never left the inner ring.”

“We?” Ingrid asked.

Byleth didn’t have a chance to answer, because Sylvain swore up a storm and when Ingrid glanced at where they were headed, she understood why. 

Felix was standing in their path, his stance combative and a hint of ‘I was right’ accenting his sneer. “Going somewhere?”

“Yes, in fact, we were,” Sylvain said, breezily. “Going to be a prick and hold us up, or going to mind your business like a good little drone and stand aside?”

It was absolutely the _worst_ time to have such a childish argument. Neither of the two boys in front of her seemed to agree. 

Felix glowered at Sylvain. “What did you do? Who is th—” He cut off as he stared at Byleth, likely coming to the same realization that Ingrid had. “What? Riegan wanted you to steal a high tech bot?” He looked Byleth over critically. “It is some kind of advanced weaponry?”

“I don’t think so,” Byleth said, as if they’d been asked.

Felix blinked at them and Ingrid could feel the hair on the back of her neck stand up. They still hadn’t even made it to their weapons yet. They had to keep moving. 

“Felix, we have to go,” Ingrid said. “I’m sorry. I wish we had more time to explain, but please, this has nothing to do with the Kingdom.”

“Right,” Felix scoffed. “Just like you and Sylvain are married.” He sneered at them. “I didn’t buy that and I don’t buy this. No way would Riegan make some play for tech that wouldn’t give the Privateers some advantage over the Kingdom. There’s more to this and I’m not moving until you tell me what.”

“They have the Fell Star Code,” Sylvain said, immediately snapping Felix’s attention to him. Felix’s previously scornful expression morphed into confusion. “We’re liberating it. Claude wants to use the code to open new pathways for everyone. It could take away the stranglehold the Church has on the galaxy and it could end the war for good.”

Felix searched Sylvain’s face and then drew his eyes towards Byleth again. Ingrid followed his gaze and then came to a terrible realization that Byleth did not have their bag and thus the information they’d risked everything for.

Sylvain seemed to notice at the same time. “Where’s your bag?” he asked, panicked.

“Oh,” Byleth said, seemingly nonplussed. They looked down at their hands, bagless. “I must have dropped it.”

“We have to go back and get it!” Sylvain said. He was scanning the area behind them, frantically. 

Byleth blinked at him. “I doubt we have time. I would prefer to have my things, but I can do without them.”

Felix looked incensed and Ingrid wasn’t sure with who. “You _dropped_ the code that functionally holds the entire galaxy together?” 

Byleth stared blankly at him. Then they looked at Sylvain and Ingrid. They blinked, inhuman for a moment and then a much more human moment as they sighed. 

“I am the Fell Star Code.” 

Ingrid assumed it would have been an eerie silence as they all took that in, but the alarms were still blaring around them.

Byleth broke the pause, tilting their head to the side thoughtfully and adding, “I suppose that’s not accurate. The Fell Star Code is what runs my operating system, both organic and inorganic.”

“Claude said you were the programmer,” Ingrid said, forgetting to make it a question. Her brain could barely process a bot—an android this advanced, let alone them being, as Felix called it, the code that held the universe together. 

“I stretched the truth,” Byleth said, with a shrug. “I wasn’t sure I could trust you and I knew I couldn’t be certain that Rhea wouldn’t be able to intercept one of our messages.”

“The Fell Star Code is ancient,” Felix said, disbelieving. He stared at Byleth like they were more questions than answers. 

“Yes,” Byleth agreed. “And I’m not.” They frowned. “I think I’m twenty-four standard solar cycles, but it’s hard to tell. Maybe twenty-six? I’m at least twenty-one.”

A noise drew their attention. The sounds of heavy booted steps, too uniform to be anything but security forces were coming their way. “We have to move,” Ingrid said. “Felix?”

Felix looked at her and then looked at Sylvain. He pursed his lips and made no move to get out of their way. Sylvain went towards him and Ingrid was petrified he was going to make this worse and try to fight Felix, but instead he put both hands on his shoulders and said, “Felix. Dimitri has tunnel vision and will use this to make more war. It’s what he does now. It’s what Faerghus has always done. Riegan is going to use it, or them, I guess, to make peace.”

“Riegan _says_ he’ll do that,” Felix snapped, but he didn’t brush Sylvain’s grip off. 

“He _means_ it,” Ingrid said. “That’s all we want, Felix. An end to this.” 

The bootfalls were getting closer. Ingrid tried to remember how many paces it was to get to their pulse pistols and how much further than that to get to the ship. She was becoming more and more unsure that they could make it in time. They had to make it in time. 

Sylvain seemed to notice as well. “Either way, we are kind of screwed if we don’t keep moving so could we have this argument on the run?” 

Felix made a grunt that used to mean begrudging agreement and thankfully still seemed to and he moved out of the way. They made their way down the passageway, farther and farther from the sound of the advancing forces. 

“How are you planning on escaping once you’re on your ship?” Felix asked, cutting holes in their plan immediately. 

Sylvain didn’t seem to have thought that part through, judging by his expression. “Ah, very quickly?”

“We didn’t think we’d get that much attention,” Ingrid said. “It's why we were trying to blend in.” 

Felix scoffed. “I knew you never would’ve _actually_ admitted you were in love with Ingrid.”

“ _Felix_ ,” Sylvain said, in a tone strangled and unfamiliar to her ears. 

“What?” Ingrid asked, so shocked she stopped running for a moment. “ _What_?”

“I can open a gate,” Byleth said, serenely. “To escape. I don’t have any immediate solutions about the interpersonal relationship stuff. I haven’t had much experience with that, but I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

Ingrid was drawn back to their present most precarious situation as well as the hint of the S-Sec forces gaining on them, probably enough to spot their route if they even made it to the ship. They’d never get out of here like this, gate or no. And also Sylvian had _what_?

Felix let out a harried breath. “Go,” he said. “I’ll hold them off.”

“With _what_?” Sylvain balked. 

Felix drew the slim blade that seemed to be completely free of any pulse alignments. “It’s not decorative.”

“Felix, you can’t,” Ingrid said. They were near enough to their ship now (having abandoned their pulse weapons completely once they realized they had to keep moving) to maybe make it, but Felix couldn’t hold off an entire security force by himself, especially with a tech-free _sword_.

“Come with us,” Sylvain said, trying to grab his arm.

Felix avoided him easily, swinging his blade up into the air. He didn’t look back at any of them and started striding in the other direction. “Just get out of here. If you actually think you can save the galaxy, go do it and stop wasting time.” 

“We’re not leaving you!” Sylvain said, stubbornly.

Felix stopped for a hairsbreadth, “Why not?” He asked. “You should be an expert by now.” He kept walking immediately afterwards. 

Ingrid could see the space between them and the ship and them and Felix.

Why did the greater good always have to be so— 

She breathed in deeply, took Sylvain’s hand and squeezed. “Sylvain we _have_ to go. You’re the only one that can fly the ship.” 

“We—” Sylvain was looking at Felix. Then he seemed to come back to himself and looked back at Byleth and then finally down at Ingrid. There was a stiff, resolute expression that passed over his face—she’d only seen it once before, when they’d faced down his brother. He nodded once and they made their way to the ship.

The sounds of metal and pulse rifles behind them. 

***

Ingrid watched Byleth create a gate and still had no idea how exactly they’d done it. It was like magic. Sylvain took off from the departure gate and got Ruin away from the station, then suddenly there was a Divine Transference Gate in front of them. An entirely new transference gate. Traveling through it felt like any other gate, so she was sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

It put enough space between them and the station that switching to DPT was not a problem.

The Ruin would make it back within spitting distance of the White Wyvern Station in record time. The mission was a success. 

Officially, anyway. Worry over what they’d left behind and confusion over what Felix had said made Ingrid try to seek Sylvain out the moment their lives hadn’t been in immediate peril, but he refused to talk to her. 

He kept making ridiculous excuses about things to check on the ship. Ingrid finally gave up and tried to process the last hour in her brain to make any sense of it. She ended up sitting with Byleth, who instead of looking out at space with great wonder for someone who’d been so closed off, was staring at the ship’s drink dispenser.

“Do you—need to eat and drink?” Ingrid asked. She wasn’t sure if that was offensive or not. 

“Yes,” Byleth said. “Though not as often as you.” They poked the dispenser. “Can this make Almyran Pine?”

“Uh, maybe,” Ingrid said, “let me check.” 

It felt grounding to have something to do. She browsed through the tea assortments. Among the standard fare and Sylvain’s favorites was mint tea. Sylvain _hated_ mint tea. 

Ingrid felt something light and unfamiliar in her chest and had no idea what to do with it. If what Felix had said was…

Ingrid checked again for Almyran Pine, but didn’t see it. “No, but Claude drinks that. I’m sure he has some on the station. Do you want something else?”

Byleth shook their head. “Thank you.” They looked at Ingrid quizzically, as carefully as they’d been studying the drink dispenser a moment ago. Ingrid wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

Byleth titled their head. “Are you all right?”

Ingrid wondered about that herself. She wasn’t sure if it was shock or something about Byleth, but being in their presence felt settling. Ingrid felt compelled to actually ask their advice. Maybe they were a good listener. If not, they were still the only person listening to her on the ship. 

“I think Sylvain might actually have feelings for me.”

Byleth paused a moment, seeming to wait to see if Ingrid had more and then, without a hint of judgement asked, “Do you want him to?”

“I…” 

Ingrid couldn’t truly process the idea. Sylvain having feelings for anyone beyond his next tryst was difficult enough to wrap her mind around, even if she’d hoped someday he would. Sylvain having feelings for _her_ seemed incomprehensible.

But…

She couldn’t help but remember the way he’d looked when he’d told Flayn of their cover love story. The way the truth seemed to settle beneath those words and how she’d felt when he’d sincerely meant that he trusted her to believe in him.

And the way he’d looked like he was about to crash into a meteor when Felix blurted _that_ out.

“I don’t know,” she said, unsure if she was lying to herself or not. “I hadn’t thought about it before.”

“You can think about it now,” Byleth said, as if it were as simple as that.

Ingrid blinked at them. They seemed more organic and more mysterious than she could quantify either. “I suppose I can.”

***

There was a welcome party waiting for them when they landed. Hilda, the person who should’ve been on the mission, was part of the procession. Ingrid couldn’t help but think how much differently the last few days would’ve gone if it had been Hilda there instead of Ingrid.

Claude approached Byleth with a bright smile, ignoring Sylvain and Ingrid as they disembarked the Ruin. Sylvain still refused to make eye contact with her.

“Welcome aboard, Teach,” Claude said. Then he paused. “Ah… hm.” Ingrid had _never_ seen the look on Claude’s face before. He looked surprised. “You’re…” 

“Byleth,” Byleth said, with that unworldly stare. 

“You’re an android,” Claude said, more to himself then than the rest of them. Then his eyebrows lowered on his face, as his lips twitched into a frown. “Probably the most advanced unit I’ve ever…” 

Sylvain cleared his throat and gestured towards Byleth. “Claude von Riegan, Commander of Golden Deer Privateers, meet Byleth, an android who is actually the Fell Star Code themself.”

Claude blinked and was speechless. Ingrid had never seen that before either.

Byleth shifted on their feet, looking around, maybe a little uncomfortable—it was hard to tell. 

Ingrid didn’t need to reassure them, however, as Raphael swooped in with a cheerful welcome, completely oblivious to the situation, as usual. “Hey! Welcome aboard, Byleth! It’s great to meetcha. Claude’s said you were really smart, but I bet you’re strong too. Do robot arms get stronger than human ones?” 

Byleth looked up at Raphael and smiled a little. “I never tested it out, but maybe.” 

“We should do that!” Raphael said, excitedly.

Finally, Claude seemed to regain speech. “You… said you were the _programmer_.”

Byleth glanced back at him and shook their head. “I said, I knew how the programming for the Fell Star Code worked.”

“Huh, that’s… technically correct,” Claude said, blinking in surprise. Raphael continued his boisterous introduction of the station to Byleth, promising to show them where the best food was, as long as they promised to test their robot muscles against his own. 

The boisterous distraction was enough for Sylvain to take the opportunity to slip away. He never waited to be dismissed. Ingrid frowned at his back. He couldn’t avoid her forever.

“Oooh boy,” Hilda said, drawing Ingrid’s attention for a moment. She pointed at Claude, who was staring after Byleth and Raphael with a perplexed and intrigued expression on his face. “That’s going to be troooouble.”

Ingrid excused herself and took the opportunity to get back to her room. She didn’t think she could take any more trouble, but she could change out of this stolen maintenance uniform and wash away the sweat from this mission in a very long shower.

***

Sylvain was in one of the viewing chambers when she finally tracked him down. The view of the aquatic planet of Derdriu from the thick shield between them and space was almost insignificant compared to what they’d seen on Garreg Mach Station. Still, he seemed to be unable to take his eyes off of it. 

“Hi,” Ingrid said, careful not to startle him. She should’ve known better, because Sylvain barely reacted, beyond a sigh. She didn’t really know how to gently approach this kind of thing. Ingrid sat down on the floor next to where Sylvain had sprawled out.

“You know he’ll be okay,” she said, softly. She’d had enough time to think about it. Felix likely got arrested, but they wouldn’t have used lethal force, especially since he only had a sword. There was also the fact that he was one of the only Major Crest bearers.

“Too valuable a chess piece in the Crest economy,” Sylvain agreed, bitterly. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “He’s an idiot. He should’ve come with us.”

“You know why he didn’t,” Ingrid said. 

Sylvain sighed again. There was something melancholy about this one. “Yeah.” He dropped his hand to his side and then pushed himself up to sitting. He was facing away from Ingrid. Sitting next to her, but not looking at her. “So.”

“Is what Felix said true?” Ingrid asked. It was better to rip the bandage off. 

Sylvain snorted without humor. “He lies worse than you do.”

“How—” Ingrid was about to ask how long, but she knew. Didn’t she? “That story you told Flayn. That was real wasn’t it?”

Sylvain drew one knee up. He rested his arm against it and she could see the tightening of his jaw. “I don’t need you to let me down easy, okay. I know you’re not interested in a philandering screw up. I wasn’t going to — I _never_ would have told you. Our friendship means too much to me.”

He _never_ would have told her? Ingrid was suddenly annoyed with him. That was familiar territory.

“You should’ve had more faith in me,” Ingrid said. “Even if I completely ruled it out, do you really think I’d let it ruin our friendship? Do you really think that I completely abandoned my duty and responsibilities for anything that wasn’t real?” 

She’d left her home. Her life. Her duty. She’d gone _with_ Sylvain, because he’d asked. Why couldn’t he see that? See what he was capable of.. what she…

“Do you still think, after securing the _key_ to galactic peace, that you’re a screw-up?”

Sylvain was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I notice you didn’t correct the philanderer part.”

Ingrid snorted. “I’m not a good liar,” she said dryly, “we’ve established this.”

Sylvain’s lips twitched up a little and he glanced back at her. “So no friendship jettisoned then?”

“Never,” Ingrid said, firmly. She scooted back a little so she could meet his eye line easier, feeling dizzy with the light feeling in her chest. She’d taken a very long shower, with plenty of time to think. 

“Even if I might… possibly be open to it being more than that.”

Sylvain’s eyebrows rose off his head. “You might?”

“Maybe,” Ingrid said, smiling. He was completely off his charm, which was charming in itself. “As long as you weren’t full of it about only using your dance lessons on me.”

“No one else in the galaxy is worth reliving the torture,” Sylvain said, seriously.

Ingrid bit her lip to keep from laughing. She brought her hand to his face. Sylvain stared at it, so surprised by a small, insignificant touch. His eyes closed and his hand covered hers, warmth enveloping both sides of her fingers.

She touched his jaw with her thumb, feeling the small hint of stubble. He’d grown so much since they’d left Faerghus. He was so brave to put everything aside they’d ever known for the chance to really make things right. And they would. They would be right. 

“I don’t think I would have left if anyone else asked,” Ingrid said. She still wasn’t sure if her feelings were as concretely romantic as Sylvain’s—it had been so long since she’d even opened her heart to that possibility—but she was sure she would always believe in him. More than anything.

Sylvain opened his eyes again. He curled his fingers around her hand touching his face and pulled it towards his lips. Another small, insignificant touch. It set her heart racing more than if he’d pulled her into a dramatic, swooping kiss.

Ingrid felt her lips curl up into a smile. “Before we pursue intergalactic peace, how about you take your wife out on a date?”

The smile that Sylvain gave her, could’ve blasted away a star cruiser. “You just want me to buy you dinner.”

Ingrid shrugged. “I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t part of it.”

Sylvian snorted, his thumb brushed against the juncture of her own thumb and forefinger. “And we both know you can’t do that.”

Everything was old between them, but also new. Full of possibility.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you'd like, please give this fic a bump with its [promo tweet](https://twitter.com/waffle_fancy/status/1351332480544960512?s=20)!


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